Rodrik The Red Wolf
by PerpetuallyPlaid
Summary: Rodrik Snow is the bastard son of Brandon Stark, and Barbrey Ryswell. With the sword skill of his father and the horsemanship of the Ryswells, he lives his life to protect his family, and to any who would harm them, Vengeance comes down upon them.
1. Chapter 1

Ser Rodrik Snow watched in both confusion and amusement as Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm dismounted his horse, and embraced Lord Eddard Stark. He leaned over to his cousin Jon and whispered, "I had heard the stories that the King was a large man, prone to wine, food and women, but the tales did not give that fat man justice." Jon cracked a smile, but did not laugh, two years of trying to get the stoic bastard to lighten up had still led to nothing but failure.

Turning his attention back to the King, Rodrik watched as the King studied Eddard's true-born children, followed shortly by Queen Cercei Baratheon, formerly of the House Lannister. Then, rather rudely, the King declared, "Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects." Barring the protests of the Queen, and Eddard calling for a lantern, just like that the two men were gone, heading to the crypt to see the statue of Eddard's sister, and Robert's once betrothed, Lyanna Stark.

There was silence for a brief moment, before both parties, the assembled household and the Royal Party, began to disband and mingle. Jon and Rodrik however, were quick to make their leave, no one would be seeking them out for introductions or small talk. As they were both about to enter the Great Keep however, a voice stopped them both.

"And where does the Red Bastard of Winterfell think he is going?"

Outraged at the use of the nickname that had plagued him since he had arrived at Winterfell two years prior, Rodrik spun back around, ready to berate anyone foolish enough to call him that to his face, before all ill-intent died when he saw the speaker.

"Domeric!" There standing among the mingling crowd, was Rodrik's cousin Domeric Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort, with a smile on his face, Domeric laughed at the outrage that quickly disappeared from Rodrik's face.

Rodrik ran to his cousin, and embraced him gladly, which was returned in kind. "Why are you here, Dom? I had thought that your father had not let you out of the Dreadfort at any point in the last year?"

Domeric nodded his head, "After my return to the Dreadfort, my father was insistent that all of my time be focused on preparing to be the next Lord of the Dreadfort, but I have been sent back to Winterfell for the King's arrival, to represent House Bolton while they are here, and a few other things as well, that I will tell you after I have spoken of them to Lord Stark."

Rodrik accepted the answer with a bit of hesitation, wondering what business his cousin had with his uncle that he could not tell him of it first. Indicating Jon, Rodrik chose to avoid the topic, "In any case Dom, this is my cousin Jon Snow. Jon, this is my other cousin, Squire Domeric Bolton."

The use of his nickname "Squire Domeric" earned Rodrik a punch in the arm, but if Domeric wanted to bring up station, then Rodrik was glad to bring up the fact that Lord Refort, who both Rodrik and Domeric had squired for, for five years, had named Rodrik a knight upon their leaving, but not Domeric. Truthfully, it had been done only because Rodrik had stopped their foster brother Mychel from bedding a bastard girl, Mya Stone, and Lord Redfort had rewarded him for keeping his son from dishonoring himself with a bastard.

Jon was interested in meeting Rodrik's cousin, who he had a lot about from Rodrik. The two of them had spent five years together living in Barrowton, then another five years at the Redfort in the Vale, and since Rodrik's coming to Winterfell, Jon had aspired to meet him. Hoping not to display his curiosity, Jon simply nodded his head, saying, "It is good to meet you."

Rodrik laughed, turning back to Domeric, "It is hard to tell, but Jon is actually excited to meet you. He's a bit rough around new people, but you'll like Jon. Come, let's get into the keep and get warm."

The remaining few hours before sundown passed quickly for the three young men, leading up to the feast hosted in honor of the King's arrival at Winterfell. Domeric had quickly been re-introduced to Lady Catelyn, who had treated Domeric with the cool suspicion most treated Domeric when they realized his last name was Bolton. Regardless, she had tried to seat Domeric near a few of the more noble Lords and Ladies in attendance, but he quietly refused, and asked to be seated with his cousin, which she had granted reluctantly.

Rodrik was glad that Dom had decided to be seated with him and Jon, among a number of squires in service to the many knights in the King's retinue. As a knight himself, it was insulting to seat Rodrik among the squires, but nothing more could be expected from his aunt, who treated Rodrik and Jon both like they were actively trying to steal the Lordship of Winterfell simply by being at Winterfell. Even though it was Eddard who brought Jon to Winterfell, and ordered Rodrik's mother Barbrey to send Rodrik to Winterfell.

When Eddard had returned to Winterfell after Robert's Rebellion, he had requested the then four-year-old Rodrik to be sent to Winterfell, claiming to want to look after his own nephew, and raise him among his own children. Lady Dustin, however, had refused, claiming that herself, and later Domeric, were as much his family. Then the instant that Rodrik and Domeric had arrived at Barrowton, after returning from the Vale, they had both been requested to visit Winterfell for at least one year.

Domeric had stayed for that one year, before his father sent a guard of forty men to escort the future Lord back home to The Dreadfort. Rodrik and Domeric had parted for the first time in ten years, though Rodrik was surrounded by a, mostly, accepting family. Domeric however, went back to The Dreadfort, where his father had no doubt put him through as much preparation as he could, to make up for the ten years that had been spent away from the Dreadfort.

Brought back to the present, Rodrik watched in silence as the procession of the Starks and Baratheons entered the hall, passing right by Jon, Domeric and Rodrik. Started by his uncle walking down to the raised platform with Queen Cercei on his arm. Next came the King, leading Lady Catelyn on his arm, followed by Rickon, who stopped to speak to Jon, before Jon urged him to continue on.

The rest of the children followed, Robb, leading Lady Myrcella, a little girl compared to himself, on his arm. Arya walked by with Tommen, clearly unhappy with the formal proceedings, while Sansa followed on the arm of Prince Joffrey, glowing and sending the prince a number of smiles and shy looks.

Prince Joffrey walked with all of the over-confidence and swagger befitting a Crown Prince, looking like he considered himself a god among men. Though only twelve, the prince was tall, and Rodrik had to admit, rather comely, though the perpetual look of arrogance on his face made Rodrik dislike him immediately. Sansa didn't seem to notice the arrogance in Joffrey, too absorbed in the fact that he was a prince, and she was to marry him and one day become Queen.

Following the recently betrothed couple, walked the Queen's brothers, Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard, the best swordsman in Westeros, walking with pride and self-assured swagger, similar to Joffrey, but Rodrik knew that Ser Jaime walked with confidence, not with arrogance. Beside his brother, Tyrion Lannister looked ugly and short. 'Well, he is ugly and short.' Born a dwarf, with discolored eyes and a stout face with a too-large forehead, Tyrion was the opposite of his brother.

Last to enter, were Rodrik's other uncle, Benjen Stark, who had chosen the Night's Watch to find purpose in his life. It was a surprise to see Benjen in attendance, though Rodrik could only assume that it was because of the deserter, Yoren, who Eddard had executed.

Beside him, walked Theon Greyjoy, ward of Lord Eddard, who had more in common with Prince Joffrey than anyone else at the feast. Walking with a cockiness that Rodrik knew he could not back up.

After Rodrik's arrival at Winterfell, Theon immediately sought to create an issue, and bully Rodrik in the way that he had, and still would bully Jon. Theon was eighteen when Rodrik arrived at Winterfell, himself being slightly younger at sixteen, four years older than the twelve-year-old Jon that he bullied.

In his time in The Vale, though often disrespected by his hosts, Rodrik distinguished himself as the single best swordsman at the Redfort. In what was supposed to be a friendly spar with dulled steel, Theon had thought to use the spar as an excuse to beat Rodrik, expecting that being the elder, he had the advantage.

Theon was dead wrong. In under forty seconds, Theon was disarmed and nursing a rapidly forming bruise across his ribs. Two minutes later, he was disarmed again, though free of bruises, after Rodrik had held the tip of his blade to his throat. Robb and Jon had laughed at Theon's easy defeat, a humiliation that Theon used to fuel a contempt and hatred of Rodrik, later redoubled when Jon proved to also be a better swordsman than him a year later, then Robb also surpassed Theon in swordsmanship. As Theon passed by Rodrik and Jon, he made it a point to not even cast one look over their way, completely ignoring their existence.

After the entrance and seating of the high lords, an army of servants brought out the food and drink, Lord and Lady Stark sparing no expense for the reception of the King. The squire's table was a lively mix of the retelling of stories and adventures, and a shared complaining about the life of a squire. Jon, Domeric and Rodrik all enjoyed the feast immensely, as they ate and drank to their desire.

Jon and Rodrik's direwolves, Ghost and Anogar, enjoyed the table scraps they both scavenged, or were fed. The two, though still puppies, were nearing the size of a full grown hound, Anogar specifically was the largest of the seven pups, surprising as he had been the second smallest when they had found them in the woods. Occasionally, one of the dogs that followed the serving girls around, would try to steal something from the two pups, but standing together, none of the dogs dared to challenge the two direwolves.

As the night continued, their table got rowdier and rowdier as everyone seated drank more and more wine, and the stories got more and more outrageous. Domeric, clearly having drank more than he should have, began to retell a tale from his and Rodrik's time in The Vale, though it was something that Rodrik wished that Domeric would forget about.

His words slurred and partly incoherent, Domeric began, "We were sparing, Rodrik and I, against Mychel and Jon Redfort. Lord Redfort wanted to see how his youngest two sons would fare against his squires. Always the better swordsman, Rodrik chose to spar against Jon, older than us by a number of years, we expected he would be the better swordsman of our foster brothers, Mychel was a tiny, scrawny boy of twelve. Then, two minutes later, Rodrik forced Jon's surrender, and tiny little Mychel had disarmed me with ease, some little prodigy with the sword, apparently. Anyway, it's Rodrik, recently knighted, against tiny little Mychel, two years younger than us, still a squire to some Corbray I can't remember."

Dom took a moment to raise the bottom of his wine cup to the ceiling as he drained it of it's tart riverlander wine, Rodrik and Dom's wine of choice, before he continued, "Rodrik had proven a year before this that he was the best swordsman in The Vale, he's damned good, and showed up every knight that Lord Redfort invited to duel him, and had won a couple hundred gold dragons off of bets placed on when Rodrik would finally lose a duel."

"Well, tiny little Mychel didn't seem to stand a chance against Rodrik, until Rodrik tripped over his own feet, and dropped his sword on the ground, so Mychel quickly claimed the victory, and Lord Redfort was out the hundred gold dragons he had bet against his own son!"

Domeric and Jon laughed along with the squires as they pictured the outwardly stoic Rodrik tripping over his own feet to lose a duel. Jon in particular had downed as much wine as Domeric, and judging by the red tint to his face, he was just as drunk, though he preferred summerwine that the royal party had brought up from the Reach.

It was as the table began to calm down, that Jon and Rodrik's uncle Benjen approached the table, asking them, "Are those two of the direwolves that I have been hearing so much about?" Jon responded, "Yes, Ghost and Rodrik's wolf Anogar." Jon had been petting Ghost's head, stopping when Benjen ruffled his hair in much the same way, nodding a greeting to Rodrik. A squire moved down the bench, creating room next to Jon for Benjen to sit, who straddled the bench so he could face both of his nephews.

Benjen studied the two direwolves curiously, "They are both rather quiet for wolves."

Jon nodded his head, "These two are different from the others, I named mine Ghost for always being quiet. Rodrik chose Anogar, apparently it means blood in Valyrian."

Benjen accepted the answer, before asking another question, "I had expected to see you both seated with the rest, by the platform; do you not usually eat with them?"

Rodrik laughed, "Aye, usually we will. But tonight, Lady Stark believed it would insult the royal family to seat two bastards among them, though it is not much of a loss, these lads are good company. And she isn't here to limit our wine, either."

Benjen laughed as well, "Then there is good in it. My brother seems unusually quiet tonight."

It was less a statement as it was a question, so Jon responded, "The Queen is angry too."

Rodrik nodded, "As soon as the royal party arrived, the King made Uncle Eddard take him down to the crypts, though it angered Queen Cercei considerably."

Benjen leveled a careful look at Jon, then at Rodrik, "You two do not miss much, do you? We could use men like you on the Wall."

Under his uncle's praise, Jon swelled with pride, "Robb is better with the lance, and Rodrik is better than I with the sword, but I sit a horse as well as he does, and Father says that together, we are the best swordsmen and riders in Winterfell."

"They are achievements to be proud of."

Jon continued, "Take me with you when you go back to the Wall. Father will give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will."

Benjen shook his head slightly, studying the looks on Jon and Rodrik's faces, "The Wall is a hard place for a boy, or even a young knight."

Rodrik shook his head at the eagerness of his cousin, "I have no desire to join the Night's Watch, my place is in The North, one cousin will be Lord of Winterfell, and this one," he grabbed Domeric's shoulder, "will be Lord of the Dreadfort, while my mother is Lady Dustin of Barrowton, and my grandfather on her side is Lord of the Rills, to be followed by my uncle. I will live my life to serve them, I have purpose here, as Jon would if he were not so stubborn."

Benjen noticed the young Bolton for the first time, taking in his long brown hair, icy blue eyes and clear drunkenness, though before he could apologize to the future Lord, Jon turned to Rodrik, "You have family you can serve, and you are a knight, I am nothing here. Perhaps I would live my life to serve Father and Robb, but they have Bran and Rickon, and yourself. I have no one else, and I am not wanted here in Winterfell."

Rodrik snapped at Jon, "Is serving your brother not a noble enough cause? He will be Lord of Winterfell one day, and who else but his brothers should be beside him? Lady Catelyn can dislike you as much as she likes, but it does not make you any less wanted by every other person in this family. You and I are almost the same, we will not hold lands, or be given a holdfast to rule in our family's name, and we will not marry. We will serve, better we serve our family here, than abandon them to guard a giant wall of ice from wildlings and grumpkins and snarks."

Rodrik rose quickly, Domeric and Anogar following him on his way out. Rodrik knew he had spoken harshly, insulting both his cousin and his uncle with his mostly drunken fueled tirade. But at the moment, he could not care. Jon had confided in him a year prior that he wished to leave for the Night's Watch, and every effort to dissuade him had ended in failure. It infuriated Rodrik that his cousin wished to throw away his life, while his reasoning reflected everything that Rodrik himself feared.

As they exited the hall, Domeric called out to Rodrik, "Wait, Rodrik! We should go back in, and you should apologize, Jon was hurt badly by your words."

Turning back around to face Domeric, Rodrik's drunken anger turned towards his other cousin, "You would talk about being hurt by words? I found out why you are really here in Winterfell, and why you wouldn't tell me about it! My mother is giving you Lordship of Barrowton! My only prospect in life was to be named the Heir to Barrowton, I grew up there, my father fostered there. The people respect me and would likely have accepted me as their Lord one day! But she gave it to you!"

Domeric was stunned that Rodrik had known about it, and hadn't said anything at all during the feast, "I did not ask for this, Rodrik. It was your mother's choice, not my own. And it is not even final, but if I am named Lord of Barrowton, than I will name you my heir. Our lives will play out as they will, do not blame me for it! I would take it back in a moment, if Aunt Barbrey had not sent the request to Lord Eddard before informing me of her decision. That was the reason that I was brought to Winterfell in the first place, your uncle wanted to judge my character before he made his decision; that is how long that she has been planning this, her and my father both."

It was then Rodrik's turn to be stunned, and he was unable to come up with a response, as Anogar brushed against his leg, so Rodrik crouched to pet the wolf, to distract himself. Taking a deep breath, Rodrik realized how drunk that he was, and shook his head, "I am sorry, Dom, I am drunk and not thinking clearly. I need to retire for the night."

Without waiting for a response, Rodrik turned away from his cousin and walked away, knowing that he was likely going to lie awake in his bed all night, troubled by the recent events, 'Or I can find something more to drink, until I am so drunk that I pass out.'

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, so this is sort of a rewrite of my story. I was dissatisfied with the way that I wrote the first five and a half thousand words of the previous version, and that I followed the show instead of the books, so finally, I have written something that follows the books more than the show. If you are a new reader, you can totally disregard this note. Please review or message with comments or questions.


	2. Chapter 2

As morning dawned at Winterfell, Rodrik was roused from his attempts to sleep by a knocking at his door. Expecting it to be Domeric, he called out, "Just come in."

As the door opened, to Rodrik's surprise, it was not Domeric, but it was Desmond, a guard, "Ser Rodrik, your presence has been requested in Lord Stark's solar."

Rodrik rose quickly, quickly dressing himself, as he asked, "Do you know what I am needed for, Desmond?"

Desmond shook his head, "I do not, Ser, though it will doubtlessly be explained upon your arrival." With that, Desmond left his quarters, so Rodrik finished getting dressed in his dark gray breeches that matched his eyes, choosing a black tunic trimmed in white. Rodrik then shook his head, using his hands in an attempt to tame his shoulder length, thick and wild black hair, which was contrasted by his usually clean trimmed beard that was once more in need of a trim.

Whistling to Anogar, who stood and followed him, he began heading to his uncle's solar. It took a few minutes to cross the keep, but Rodrik was let in immediately, to reveal that Lord Stark was seated within, Eddard lounged in a chair behind his desk. Rodrik chose to simply stand before him, ignoring the chair set on his side of the desk, while Anogar laid at Rodrik's feet, "Uncle, you asked to see me?"

Ned smiled slightly at Rodrik, before becoming more serious, "Good, you are here. There is a serious news, none of which directly concerns you, but I would have your opinion on. Your Lady mother wishes to bestow Barrowton upon Domeric, with no Dustin heir, it is an acceptable option as Domeric is her nephew, high born and noble. However, I cannot entrust so much power to one family, let alone one person. The other houses would be furious with me for granting so much power to the Bolton family, who are already the second most powerful House in the North."

Slowly, Rodrik nodded his head, "But if not Domeric, who can be considered the heir of my mother, would you be granting Barrowton to House Stout? Or am I to be the Lord of Barrowton?"

"No, I know Lord Harwood, I fought beside him fifteen years ago, but granting a high lordship to a minor house could be seen as insulting to the other lords, and make other minor lords more active about trying to usurp a high lordship. And I cannot grant it to anyone in my family, as it would appear that I am giving power to my own family. This is why I cannot name you heir to Barrowton, as I know you are worthy of. For the time being, I will leave the succession of Barrowton unresolved."

Slowly, Rodrik nodded in acceptance, "I guess that it is the best choice to make no choice, for now. But was this important enough to call me here, to your solar?"

"By itself, no, but there is more. I will be accepting Robert's appointment as Hand of the King, and I am riding south with him to King's Landing. Sansa, Arya, and Bran will be coming with me, and I would like you to come with me as well."

Rodrik was shocked, the news that his uncle was accepting the position as Hand of the King was no surprise, it was his duty, and honorable Eddard Stark never turned from his duty, but he had expected to be left in the North, probably returning to Barrowton to be with his mother, as Lady Stark would be in charge of the household at Winterfell. "I am honored, Uncle, but still this cannot be why I was called to your solar?"

Eddard nodded, "Yet again, no. You are a master with a sword, surpassing the skill that my brother Brandon ever had, who was the best sword in Winterfell. Your skill with a lance rivals that of Robb, you ride as well as any of your Ryswell uncles, or as well as Brandon, or Lyanna. You are like Brandon in a lot of ways, inheriting his skill and charisma, but your time in The Vale instilled in you the same values that it did myself in my time there. You are perhaps the best knight in the North, even at the age of eighteen, and I am proud to call you my nephew."

Wondering where his uncle was going with this, Rodrik watched as Ned reached under the desk, placing a Winterfell steel bastard sword on his desk, "This is Brandon's sword, he named it Vengeance when he rode to King's Landing, fifteen years ago. I recovered it after The Rebellion, and kept it, knowing that he would have wanted it to go to you, his only son. I could not bare to wield it, but I hope that you can."

Rodrik stared at the sword, in a mixture of surprise and so many other emotions that he could not name them all, "I- I do not know what to say, thank you, Uncle. I, I had wondered before what had become of his sword, and I will wield it with pride and respect, in honor of my father. Thank you."

Rodrik stepped forward, having to step over his direwolf pup to do so, and picked his father's sword up, feeling how perfect the blade felt in his grasp, as a small tear rolled down his cheek. Ned placed the sword's leather belt and sheath on his desk, which Rodrik grabbed, fitting the belt before placing the sword in it's sheath, leaving a comfortable weight on his hip. 'Vengeance, something that led my father and grandfather to their death.'

Ned felt a wave of sadness as he looked at his nephew, the mirror image of Brandon, alike in every way, except how his nephew's personality was more tempered. "And there is something else, as well, Rodrik. You are a bastard, there is no dodging around that fact, but fifteen years ago, when my father and brother were murdered, neither myself, or my brother Benjen wished to become the Lord of Winterfell, and carry the burdens that followed. We tried to convince Robert to legitimize you as a Stark, and as the rightful Lord of Winterfell. He had declined, after both Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn spoke against it, as it was war, and the North needed a leader, and Hoster wished to marry Catelyn to me. If things had been different, you would have been Rodrik Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

This shocked Rodrik more than any news that he had ever heard before in his life, even the news of his father's death, though he had hardly known him, and had been too young to grasp the significance of it. "Why? Why tell me this?" Rodrik was beyond confused.

Ned sighed, "Because I want you to know that I see you as a Stark, even if you do not carry the name, and I see you as one of my sons, even if I have only known you for two years. I trust you completely, and against my wife's convictions, I am going to tell you something that is beyond dangerous, but as a knight, and a member of my family that is mature enough to handle this, I believe you deserve to be told, and can be trusted with this."

Rodrik waited with baited breath, this was big, whatever this secret was. His uncle went to extreme lengths to express his trust in him, and whatever this news was, was clearly dangerous beyond anything Rodrik had experience with.

"My wife received a raven from her sister in The Eyrie, the wife of the late Jon Arryn. She believes that he was murdered by the Lannisters, by the Queen herself. We do not know why the Queen would do such a thing, but that is why I have accepted the position as Hand, why Sansa will marry Joffrey, and why you will go with us, and why I am telling you of this. We will give the Lannisters no reason to suspect us of anything, but I will need your help in King's Landing, for we go to find out the truth of Jon Arryn's death."

Rodrik was silent, contemplating the seriousness of the matter, and of the danger that would await them in King's Landing, while he felt his uncle studying his face, trying to gauge his reaction.

"I view the Redforts as my family, who spoke of Jon Arryn as a great man, a just man, and the single reason that the Seven Kingdoms have been held together. I also remember that Elbert Arryn rode beside my father to King's Landing, for the honor of Lyanna, and Lady Arryn is my cousins' aunt, family to me all the same. The Starks and Arryns have a friendship that runs deep, I swear that I will help you uncover the truth of his death."

Ned nodded, "Good, I am aware of the burden that I am placing on you, but I know that I will need your assistance in the coming days. King's Landing is a viper's nest, the people are vain and deceitful, always playing for their own gain. I know that I can trust you to be beside me every step of the way."

He sighed for what had to be the tenth time since Rodrik walked into his solar, "For now, only myself, Catelyn, Maester Luwin and yourself know of this. We keep it that way."

Rodrik accepted that, "As you wish, Uncle. I will beg my leave, I have much to think on." After Ned gave him leave, Rodrik spun around, leaving the solar as he tried to process so much information. 'I was almost Lord of Winterfell, the true heir to my father, but I only wield the sword that he strangled himself trying to reach. Jon Arryn was murdered by Queen Cercei, and the entire reason we go South, is to find out why. This is too much.'

As he had not been paying much attention to where he had been walking, Rodrik found himself near the door to the bridge between the Great Keep, and the armory. Recalling that Robb and Bran were set to spar against the princes, Rodrik headed for the door, knowing that from the bridge, you could spectate anyone training or sparring outside the armory.

Walking onto the bridge, Rodrik could see that Jon was already there, seated on the sill of the window where you could spectate the yard, Ghost laying down near the wall, who stood up to greet Anogar. The memory of the previous night still fresh, though blurred by alcohol, Rodrik was immediately awkward, and unsure how to greet his cousin, settling on keeping it simple, "Good morn, Jon."

Jon turned to look over at him, his face not giving away his emotions, "Good morning to you as well, Rodrik." With that, Jon turned back to the yard, ignoring Rodrik as the sound of clashing swords was heard from below.

Though it would be awkward, Rodrik stepped forward to stand next to Jon, looking down at the yard, watching as Robb and Prince Joffrey were sparring. A smile graced Rodrik's face as Robb completely dominated the Crown Prince, their spar entirely one sided, as Joffrey took blow after blow, only landing one for every five of Robb's strikes. Robb was two years older, but the prince clearly had no skill with a sword.

The master at arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel called an end to their spar, Robb walking over to Theon with a wide smile on his face, as the prince skulked away, clearly embarrassed. Rodrik was a common Northern name, and it was a common joke at Winterfell that there were two Ser Rodrik's, and even though Ser Rodrik Cassel was upwards in age, he was the second best sword in Winterfell, behind Rodrik himself.

The next spar to commence was Bran against the very plump Tommen, clearly the younger prince was largely inexperienced and unpracticed at sword work, compared to Bran who dreamed of nothing but becoming a knight, and Rodrik spent more time training Bran than anyone else did. Against Bran, Tommen stood no chance, though the two of them were wearing so much padding and cushioning that Rodrik doubted they could feel any of the blows that landed.

Hearing a commotion at the door to the bridge, Rodrik looked over to see Arya running with Nymeria beside her, slowing down as she got to the window, Anogar and Ghost greeting their sister. As the direwolves settled down, Jon spoke up, "Shouldn't you be working on your stitches, little sister?"

Arya made a face at her brother, "I want to watch them fight."

Jon smiled at her, "Come here then."

Arya jumped up beside Jon, seating herself beside him as the sounds of the spar below grew louder. As Arya realized who was sparring, Rodrik spotted disappointment on her face, she must have wanted to see Robb and Joffrey spar.

Rodrik decided that he wanted to head down to the yard to have a better view, as Jon and Arya now blocked most of the window, and Jon was still ignoring him, the awkward atmosphere even making Arya mostly silent. As he headed over to the armory, Rodrik quickly made his way through, exiting out into the yard as Prince Tommen was knocked over into the dirt, Bran poised with his sword over head to deliver a heavy blow.

He was stopped, however, as Ser Rodrik Cassel called out, "Enough!" He took the Prince's hand and pulled him up to his feet, after he struggled to stand with all his padding weighing him down. "Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor." He looked around the yard, "Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round."

Robb smiled, still breathing slightly heavy, and sweating from their previous bout, "Gladly."

Prince Joffrey stepped out of the shade of the stone wall, the sunlight gleaming off of his golden hair as he attempted to look bored, "This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik."

From beside Robb, Theon Greyjoy laughed, "You are children." His tone was degrading and arrogant, even to the Crown Prince.

"Robb may be a child," Joffrey said, "I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."

Sick and tired of the prince's dismissive attitude, Rodrik suddenly grew bold, "Than how about you try to take a swat at a Snow, Prince Joffrey?"

The attention of the entire courtyard was switched to Rodrik, who ignored his sudden apprehension, masking it by saying, "Are you truly a prince, you who are too afraid to spar against my cousin? That seems more like a spoiled child to me."

All across the courtyard, everyone was completely surprised by how Rodrik spoke of the prince, it was completely improper, from the usually reserved bastard.

Joffrey switched from looking bored, to indignant and insulted, he looked about to retort, when a large man with a partially burned and deformed face pushed his way out from the group of Lannister and Baratheon knights and squires, spoke for him, "Very brave words from a bastard knight, challenging a prince years younger than yourself. How about you stand to your words and fight me?"

Everyone was silent, as the air was very tense, Rodrik had no idea where his confidence had come from, but he smirked at the man he now recognized as Sandor Clegane, the prince's sworn shield, "Gladly then, Hound, I accept. Robb, toss me your sword."

Robb began to head over to Rodrik to hand him his blunted sword, but Prince Joffrey spoke up, "I don't think so, Bastard. I say the duel be with live steel, you are a knight, surely you have no need for a blunted sword."

Ser Rodrik Cassel protested, "This is a training yard, I cannot allow Rodrik to duel without armor, and live steel-"

Sandor cut him off, "Who are you to deny the prince? We are men, not boys playing with swords, we fight with our own swords, and if the Red Bastard of Winterfell wants to issue challenges, he should be more prepared next time." To emphasize his point, The Hound drew his sword, the sound of it sliding from it's sheath ringing across the yard. "If there is going to be a next time."

Rodrik was getting excited, in the two years that he had been at Winterfell, no one had given him a true challenge, and The Hound would be a real challenge. The live steel just made it more exciting.

Rodrik nodded, waving Robb away as he grabbed the hilt of his sword, just now realizing it was not his sword, that had been given to him by Lord Redfort, but it was his father's sword, the weight more balanced, the length slightly longer.

Drawing his blade, Rodrik stepped forward into the middle of the yard, as Sandor positioned himself a short distance away, as everyone else in the clearing stood way back. Without warning, Sandor charged forward, and Rodrik reacted, stepping back as he parried a slash by deflecting it with a twist, leaving Sandor immediately open, so Rodrik slashed at Sandor's exposed side.

It did nothing but dig slightly into his plate armor, so Rodrik quickly rolled to his right, as Sandor brought his blade down into the dirt where Rodrik had stood.

Reeling backwards, Rodrik was scrambling to defend himself from the onslaught of blows The Hound rained down on him, the impacts breaking Rodrik's block slowly, as the Hound's strength was much more than his own.

Growing desperate, and realizing the real danger that he was now in, Rodrik stopped back peddling as The Hound brought down a hammer blow, instead stepping forward, blocking the blow near the hilt, and stepping left, leaving Sandor off balance and lurching forward trying to catch himself.

Ending the duel in one more movement, Rodrik spun his blade, and placed it on the back of Sandor's neck, making him freeze, one hand on the ground as he caught himself.

Rodrik smirked as Sandor turned his head to look at him, "I win." Rodrik lifted his blade, spinning his wrist so that he held his blade in a reverse grip, sliding it quickly into its sheath. Rodrik let out a breath he didn't know that he was holding, as Robb and Theon stood to each side of him, as Sandor straightened himself up, sliding his sword into his sheath.

Without a word, Sandor walked away, walking out of the courtyard as Joffrey called out to him, "Where are you going, dog? Get back here!" He was ignored, however, as The Hound walked away without a word.

Rodrik watched The Hound leave with trepidation, 'I may have made a very dangerous enemy.'

As things began to calm down and the princes left with their entourage of knights and squires, Theon clapped a hand on Rodrik's shoulder, "That was something, huh? You just beat Prince Prick's dog, better watch your back from now on."

Looking at Robb, Rodrik let out a small laugh, "I will, but it was worth it to shut up that golden-haired prick. I wish it had been he who dueled me with live steel, I would have given him something to run back to his mother and cry about."

Robb laughed with him, "That would have been something to see, cousin."

Their laughter died, however, when Lord and Lady Stark strode into the clearing, both looking incredibly angry.

* * *

Author's Note: So I want to take a moment to reply to two anonymous reviewers, who were very insulted that Barbrey was not granting Barrowton to Rodrik, as was probably the original assumption. Barbrey did not love Brandon Stark, it was a childhood infatuation, not true love. And since then, she is bitter and spiteful of the Starks, after Eddard buried her husband in Dorne, which gravely insulted her. She would not cherish her illegitimate son with Brandon, after he took her maidenhead and left her to go marry Catelyn, choosing duty over her. Would she want to still name her son as her heir? Definitely, she would. Could she name her illegitimate Stark bastard as her heir? Even with the support of the people of Barrowton, who loved Brandon and love Rodrik, a bastard being named a high lord is not going to be done lightly. Look at Ramsay Snow, no one in the North accepts him as their leader, largely in part due to his bastard status. Think of how insulted House Stout would be if a bastard was named their overlord, the bastard of their lord's wife no less.

I apologize for the rant.


	3. Chapter 3

Rodrik and Jon walked up the steps, slowly, but both taking comfort in the fact that they would face this together. And it did help that their direwolves walked in between them, Ghost actually nuzzling Jon's hand to comfort him as they reached the landing outside of the room. The wolves were clever like that, able to read people, and tell their emotions.

Rodrik nodded to Jon, entering first.

Lady Stark was seated beside Bran's bed, where she had been for the entire fortnight since Bran's fall. Both Rodrik and Jon had waited until a time where Lady Stark would not be present to see Bran, but she had never left his side, and now there was no more time to wait.

As they both walked through the doorway, they could hear Bran's direwolf howling, a constant sound since the accident. At first he had been in Bran's room with him, until the sound was too much for Lady Stark to bear, so she ordered the wolf removed from the chambers. Rodrik considered that a mistake, the wolves were like their brothers and sisters to them all.

Lady Stark looked over as they both entered, not seeming to register who they were, until she blinked to clear her head, and her eyes narrowed, "What are _you two_ doing here?"

Rodrik spoke, knowing that Jon would not wish to, "We came to see Bran. We have to say goodbye."

Lady Stark's voice was clipped and emotionless, though her eyes spoke of nothing but hate, "You have said it, now go."

The contempt of Lady Stark rode on Rodrik's nerves, but he knew that to Jon it was worse, "We will not. We will say goodbye to Bran, Jon may never see him again, my lady."

"I told you to leave. We do not want you here." Her eyes glanced between the two of them, the bastards of her betrothed, and of her husband.

"You speak only for yourself, my lady." Rodrik knew his formality only served to aggravate her more, but he never backed down to his aunt, "He is Jon's brother, and like a brother to me. Set aside your hate of us, and let us see him. We love him, and you know that he loves us."

Catelyn faltered, her face dropping slightly, before regaining the same edge, "I will call the guards."

Rodrik wanted to laugh at that, "Go ahead then, standing outside this room are Jory and Fat Tom, neither of whom would deny us the right to see our family, as you do now."

That made her snap, and Rodrik knew he had gone to far, but his aunt's misplaced hatred for Jon and himself left him not caring, "He is NOT your family! He is my son!"

Finally, Jon spoke, his voice full of emotion, "And he is my brother!"

"NO! My husband may be your father, but he will never be your brother, bastard! Go, run away to the gods damned Wall already, and leave my family alone!"

Jon stepped back, the outburst clearly crushing him, and Rodrik felt his anger flare at his cousin's face near tears, "How DARE you! You, who exclude us from our family at every turn, who glares at us whenever we help your children, as brothers should, when I Bran ran to me to learn to use a sword, when Arya ran to Jon for comfort, because she thought she was a bastard because she looks like A STARK! YOU did this," Rodrik gestured to himself and Jon, "You excluded us, when we have done nothing but live FOR THE FAMILY! I will go south with your Lord Husband, for YOUR family! For YOUR sister! And you would send us away from Bran on what may be the last time we can see him? You shame yourself, you shame my uncle, and you shame the words of your house, Family, Duty, Honor. What honor is there in hating us for the sins of our fathers? What duty is it that makes you all but spit on us when we are in your presence? And we ARE your family."

With that, Lady Catelyn was near tears, the truth of Rodrik's words hitting home hard. Instead of feeling proud, Rodrik felt ashamed for his outburst, quietly walking up to Bran on the opposite side of the bed from Lady Catelyn, kissing his sickly forehead, and leaving, Jon following the same actions, though he lingered a moment longer, looking over his brother in grief.

As they got outside, there was a light snowfall all around them, as the people of Winterfell, and the royal party were all in a hurry to be off. Horses were being led to and from, while Robb stood in the middle of it all, giving orders, Grey Wind by his side.

Robb noticed them, looking at Jon as he said, "Uncle Benjen has been looking for you, he says he wanted to be gone an hour ago."

"I know." Jon said. "Leaving is harder than I thought."

Robb smiled, "For me too." He looked between the two of them, reading the somber atmosphere between Jon and Rodrik, "Did you see him?"

Rodrik nodded, as it looked like Jon did not want to speak, "We went to see him, though your mother tried to bar us from doing so. I have to apologize, I spoke harshly to her for trying to do so."

Robb's smile faded into a frown, "No, I am the one who is sorry, I have never been able to stand how she treated you both."

Silent, Robb stepped forward, pulling Jon into an embrace, "The next time I see you, you will be all in black."

Jon smiled, though it was clearly forced, "It was always my color."

Robb nodded as he stepped back, looking at Rodrik next, embracing him as well, though it was not as heartfelt as the hug Jon had received. Lady Catelyn had done a lot to keep Rodrik away from Robb, once calling Rodrik an unwanted influence on her son. 'Ironic considering that Robb's closest friend was Theon Greyjoy, who took him to a brothel in Winter Town on his last birthday.

Robb clapped both Jon and Rodrik on their shoulder, "I guess this is farewell Snows."

Though it could be seen as an insult, they all knew it was meant as a jest, so Jon responded, "Farewell, Stark. Take care of Bran."

"I will." There was a moment of awkwardness, before Robb spoke again, "Uncle Benjen said to send you both to stables if I saw you."

"I have one more farewell to make." Jon said.

"Then I haven't seen you." Robb replied.

With that, Jon turned away and headed towards the armory, leaving Robb and Rodrik standing in the snow. Though they never really said goodbye, Rodrik knew that nothing needed to be said between the two of them. Though they had argued when the royal party had arrived, Jon and Rodrik were closer than brothers, as close as Rodrik was with Domeric.

Thinking of Domeric brought a frown to Rodrik's face, as his cousin had left in an indignant rage at being denied the Lordship of Barrowton, and apparently he had offered his hand in marriage to Sansa, which was promptly denied, as Sansa was to wed Joffrey, as arranged by the King. Domeric had only spoken once to Rodrik as he left, offering a crisp goodbye, leaving things unsettled between them, something that hurt Rodrik considerably.

If Robb saw the souring of Rodrik's mood, he said nothing about it, as Rodrik turned, heading to the stables, with Anogar following behind him, as usual. The red colored direwolf was already the largest of the seven, standing well above Rodrik's knee. Theon had made a joke of how Jon's wolf was white, and Rodrik's was red, while the true born children had gray, black or brown wolves. 'The bastards got wolves the color of the weirwood trees, and their blood red sap.' Thus Rodrik's wolf was named blood, though it sounded rather boring, so Rodrik found out from Maester Luwin that High Valyrian for blood was anogar, which had a much better ring to it than simply calling him Blood.

Entering the stables, Rodrik noticed that half of the stalls had been emptied, as his uncle took half of the household of Winterfell with him to King's Landing, and everyone of import was given a horse for the long journey. But, only one of the horses mattered to Rodrik, Alydar, pride of the Ryswell herds.

Originally, the horse was given to Lord Dustin by Rodrik's mother, but after his death, and Rodrik's return to the North, she had passed it on to him, rather than continue to let him sit idle in the stables at Barrowton. By far the largest horse in the stables, he was a fiery beast, his light red coloring having been what had earned Rodrik the nickname of 'The Red Bastard of Winterfell' as Rodrik rode the horse proudly in the fields around Winterfell, though he greatly missed the hills and streams in The Rills, and around Barrowton.

Alydar was already saddled and ready to go, so Rodrik simply stroked down the length of his neck, the horse whinnying in response. For a horse and the rider, their bond was closer, Rodrik spent most days that he could out riding, and after Anogar had grown big enough, he was a constant companion, following behind them as they rode through the fields, and occasionally through paths through the wolfswood. 'That had only made the nickname worse, though it is a strange thing that I would get the direwolf who matches my horse in color.'

The finding of the direwolf mother, dead with the antlers of a stag in its neck had been one of the most ominous things in Rodrik's life, only to be followed by there being seven pups, 5 boys and 2 girls, one for each of the Stark children. 'But still, so soon before the Royal Party arrived, we found a direwolf and a stag, having killed one another. And now, the Stark direwolves go south to serve the Baratheon stags, with the threat of the Lannisters looming over us.'

And each one of the direwolves had traits that matched it to its owner. Jon's was always silent and reserved, Rickon's was wild and refused to be tamed. Anogar was the largest, Lady was as well-behaved as Sansa, while Nymeria was just as likely as Arya to listen to orders. Then there was Bran's unnamed wolf, all energy and bravery, the most agile of the wolves, matched by Bran's ability to climb in dextrous and bewildering ways.

The slight smile dropped off Rodrik's face, 'Former ability to climb, if Maester Luwin is right, Bran will never walk again, if he were to even wake.'

It was at that moment that Rodrik's uncle Benjen made his appearance, "Why the frown, nephew? You should be excited about traveling south to King's Landing. A knight such as yourself, it is the perfect chance for you to distinguish yourself."

Rodrik stopped stroking Alydar's neck and turned towards his youngest Stark uncle, "It is a lot of things, leaving Winterfell, and The North again, when I've been back for only two years. Leaving while Bran is hurt and needs his family around him. My cousin Domeric left Winterfell a day after I had snapped and argued with him, and Jon is leaving for the Night's Watch, no offense meant uncle, but I don't see it as the noble cause that he does."

Benjen stayed silent for a moment, clearly thinking through his answer, "There is nothing for you to do to help Bran, and that is the truth of it. Robb and his mother will be here for him. And arguments between family will be resolved. When I made my choice to join the Night's Watch, Ned spent ages trying to convince me otherwise, but there was nothing truly here for me. It is the same for Jon, he is great with a sword, honorable, and the mirror image of Ned, but he has no true prospect here. At the Wall, he will find purpose, as I did."

There was a shift in Benjen's behavior, his usual easy going smile dropped, and he grew grim, "And The Wall needs all the men like Jon that we can get. There is talk of a Night's Watch deserter gathering an army about him, with the goal to attack and take The Wall. He is calling himself another King Beyond The Wall. Trouble is brewing, and Winter is Coming, nephew."

Part of Rodrik wanted to laugh at the Stark words, but Benjen meant what he said, trouble was on the horizon, and thinking about the true reason that the Starks were going south, Rodrik realized that there was trouble on every horizon. 'Threats loom from the North, and from the South.'

Not truly knowing what to say, Rodrik just nodded, grabbing Alydar's reins and leading him out of the stables and into the courtyard, where the Royal Party and the Northern household were massing. Rodrik's clothes, and the armor that had been given to him by Lord Redfort were the only things that Rodrik was taking with him, and had been placed in a cart several hours before hand. 'Aside from Anogar, Alydar and Vengeance, that is.'

Throwing the thoughts behind him, Rodrik pulled himself up on Alydar's back, looking around the busy courtyard one last time, before riding out through the East Gate. Rodrik had arranged with his uncle Ned that he would ride out ahead of the party, taking a detour to stop at Barrowton before rejoining the Royal Party on the Kingsroad.

* * *

Author's Note: So, short chapter because I need to explain some more about the Barrowton thing, as I got more anonymous reviews, and pretty much all feedback was about it. YES, there is precedent that Rodrik COULD be named the heir, he may be a bastard, but he is high born regardless, he is of Stark blood, as well as the son of their Lady. But bastardy is an issue, and Domeric spent five years at Barrowton, is a true born northman, and heir to the Dreadfort. From what I believe, they could both be candidates for the lordship. But Eddard turns them both down, instead differing the issue to a later time.

Barbrey may actually prefer for her son to succeed her, but look at the Ryswell family. Lord Ryswell married Bethany to Roose Bolton, though she hardly tolerated him. He named his third son Roose, after Lord Bolton. The Ryswells in the books, completely support Lord Bolton, though they despise Ramsey for murdering Domeric, who was their Ryswell-Bolton, who served Barbrey as a page. The Ryswells have a lot invested in the Boltons, and as a FAMILY, they support Domeric. Thus, Barbrey names Domeric the heir. Who said he would name Rodrik as the next heir to Barrowton, if it passed to him. That was some looming, obvious foreshadowing, but no one picked up on it, and instead everyone retaliated, blah blah blah, Rodrik should be the heir.

So fuck it, I changed my plan, and now neither of them get Barrowton, though I was going to have Domeric get it, get killed by Ramsey, and the power would pass to Rodrik, who would leave the northern alliance during the War of the Five Kings to seek vengeance against Ramsey. It was going to be this whole arc, where the story really took off, and deviated from canon, but NO, I had to scrap the whole thing because no one agreed about it. Fine, I'll figure something else out, I guess.

Sorry for the small update, for those of you who have enjoyed the story, but I'm honestly not feeling like writing more right now.


	4. Chapter 4

The wide, cobbled streets, and the tall wooden walls and buildings were a welcome sight to Rodrik as he rode down the main road of Barrowton. The road always sloped up, heading to the top of The Great Barrow, and Rodrik had memories of sliding down the hill on wooden sleds as a child with Domeric, and the children of his mother's cousin, Royce and Mark.

Going up the street, there were a number of people who recognized Rodrik, or recognized Alydar, and then realized who it was that rode him. As Rodrik passed through the gate house of Barrow Hall, several guardsmen nodded to him, or gave him a smile and a greeting.

Standing before the steps of Barrow Hall, stood his mother, Lady Barbrey Dustin. Beside her stood her cousin Donnard, Royce and Mark standing beside him. Royce was the elder, a year older than Rodrik, while Mark was seven years Rodrik's junior, and named after their uncle, who died fighting beside Willem Dustin and Eddard in the sands of Dorne. Royce was technically Ser Royce Ryswell now, he had been knighted by Rodrik's eldest Ryswell uncle, Roger, after being his squire for 6 years.

Besides Rodrik's family, Beron, the captain of the guard, was to his mother's right. Beron had trained Rodrik and Domeric at arms before their squiring in The Vale, and he was a family friend. The only other person assembled outside, was Maester Alyn. Standing removed from the rest, he kept his distance from his lady, with good reason.

His mother was an amazing woman, ran an orderly household, managed the affairs of Barrowton effortlessly, and was a kind and caring mother. But at the sight of a maester of the Citadel, she turned ugly, and was needlessly cruel. Every person had flaws, but after she had fallen in love with Brandon Stark, it was Lord Rickard Stark's maester, Walys, who persuaded Rickard to arrange a betrothal to Catelyn Tully. After that, she seemed to blame every maester who came in her sight of any slight inconvenience or anything at all that she could.

Rodrik dismounted his horse with a smile on his face, which was matched by a smile on everyone's face present, barring Beron and Maester Alyn. A stableboy, who's name Rodrik could not possibly remember, ran up and took Alydar's reins, leading him away.

Mark looked about ready to run up to Rodrik and embrace him, but a hand on his shoulder from Royce kept him from doing so, knowing that Lady Dustin would want to be the first to embrace her son. Which she did, the small smile on her face growing into a full expression of joy as she stepped forward into the embrace of her son, her smile only being matched by Rodrik's own.

"My son."

A tear threatened to break free and roll down his face, but Rodrik managed to keep it back, knowing that there was no place for tears at a moment of joy, "Mother, I've missed you."

Barbrey leaned back form the embrace, her hand coming up to rest on Rodrik's cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard, "How I've missed you too. And everyone else here has as well, it has not been the same with you away these last years."

Pulling away from his mother, Rodrik greeted his cousin, or more of his uncle, Donnard, with a firm handshake. A friend of his mother, and her cousin, he accompanied her to Barrowton when she was first married, had known Rodrik's father Brandon, and was a welcome sight to Rodrik. As soon as Rodrik was done shaking hands with Donnard however, his youngest son Mark launched himself into Rodrik's arms.

Everyone else assembled laughed as Rodrik spun around, spinning his cousin in the air as they both smiled. Mark had followed Domeric and himself around endlessly, their younger cousin, but he was like a little brother to them both, and Rodrik had missed him dearly, and regretted that he was unable to form a similar bond with either Bran or Rickon.

Mark pulled himself out of Rodrik's arms as their hug turned into Rodrik messing with Mark's short brown hair, playfully yelling for him to stop, though he stood aside with a smile on his face when he finally pulled himself free.

Next, Rodrik stepped forward and pulled the elder brother, Royce, into a hug. Royce was usually more serious and usually tried to avoid acts of affection, not that Rodrik was having any of that, he would be damned if he did not get a hug from his cousin who he had grown up beside, and had known longer than he had even known Domeric.

'It is so good to see them both, I had forgotten how much I had truly missed them.'

Rodrik even took a moment to move back to the other side of his mother, and greet Beron with a handshake and a mutual nod. Family was everything to Rodrik, and though Beron was in no way related, he had been around as long as Rodrik could remember, and he had taught him to swing a sword, the way a father or an elder brother would have.

Rodrik had greeted everyone aside from Maester Alyn, when his mother called for everyone to move inside the Main Hall, and out of the cold. And so they did, walking up the wide wooden steps up to the hall, at the very top of the Great Barrow, the heart of Barrow Hall, at the center of Barrowton. 'Home.'

In a few moments, everyone was seated around the table, a modest midday meal having already been laid out by the servants, though after Rodrik's four days of travel provisions, it was a welcome sight. Everyone seated themselves around the table, though Maester Alyn excused himself from the meal, saving he had business to attend to. Barbrey sat at the head of the table, Rodrik on her left, and Donnard at her right. Royce sat next to his father, Beron next to him, while Mark sat next to Rodrik, excitedly chatting away about anything and everything of varying importance that had occurred at Barrowton during Rodrik's two years of absence.

As Mark tried his best to talk his ear off, Rodrik stopped for a moment to think about Maester Alyn. Young, for a maester, he was only about thirty-five years old, and had been sent to replace the previous maester, who Barbrey had sent away form Barrowton, back to The Citadel, while Rodrik had been seven years old. Alyn had taught Rodrik in all areas after that, minus combat. Everything Rodrik knew, it could be attributed to the easy going man, and Rodrik was dissapointed that Alyn had excused himself, as he was someone that Rodrik had missed as well.

The meal was roast duck and onions in a thick gravy, one of Rodrik's favorite meals, doubtless it was something that his mother had remembered, and had the cooks prepare it for his arrival. The food was hot and steaming, though the ale that accompanied it was distasteful and bland, not pairing well at all with the heavy flavors of the meal. 'What I wouldn't do for Riverlander wine right now. Asking for it would simply be too rude, though I would almost prefer the glass of water that Mark is drinking.'

Rodrik's mother stayed mostly silent, every once in a while making a comment to her cousin Donnard, while mostly listening to the conversation between Rodrik, Mark and occasionally Royce. Rodrik learned about a wind storm that had passed through four months prior that had spun the old windmill by the gate house so fast that everyone had thought it might fly away, and about how the entire Ryswell family had visited Barbrey at one point, her father Rodrik, and his sons Roger, Rickard and Roose, as well Donnard's sister Diana, with four hundred family knights and men at arms with them.

It was a curious thing, for all of House Ryswell and so many of their men to travel to Barrowton, so Rodrik asked his mother for an explanation.

She sighed, brushing a hand through her graying hair, having eaten her fill nearly an hour before, and explained what had caused it, "My father came with the rest of our family, and a lot of our House's strength so that he could convince me to name Domeric heir to Barrowton. It was something I had known he had wanted, and could not refuse him. Not that that worked anyway, your, _uncle,_ " Barbrey practically spat the word out, "refused my decision to name him the heir, after having refused you as heir to Barrowton as well."

Rodrik bristled slightly at his mother's hostility towards his uncle, "Mother, what Lord Stark did was done with good reason."

He meant to continue, but his mother cut him off, "And what reason could he possibly have for denying both my son and my nephew the Lordship of Barrowton? What does he plan to do, pass off the lordship to one of his younger sons?"

Rodrik practically recoiled, "No, Mother, my uncle refused Domeric because no one House, less one man should have high lordship over two regions as vast. The Boltons are already the second most powerful Northern House, and with Barrowton as well, they would have control over nearly a third of the forces of the North."

Barbrey replied quickly, "Domeric would handle that responsibility with dignity and he is as much Ryswell as he is Bolton."

Finally, Beron cut into the conversation for the first time, "It isn't about Domeric, My Lady. It's about the name he bears. Few in the North trust the name Bolton, and even fewer would want a Bolton as their Lord. I told you Domeric could never inherit Barrowton."

Barbrey was growing angry, and after a huff, directed her attention back at her son, "Than why would he deny you, my son, the Lordship? He dotes on his own bastard boy, just as he would a true-born son, so why deny you? You, who he tried for so many years to take from me?"

Rodrik felt something snap inside himself, he could not stand his mother's behavior, and he could never remember her being so callous and rude, though he curbed the instinct to retort with cruelty in kind, "My uncle could not name me the heir, for the same reasons that he would never name one of his own sons, he cannot simply give power to his own family."

"Than what?" Barbrey's exclamation was punctuated by her throwing her arms exasperatedly, "Who am I to pass Barrowton to? I raised you, and I raised Domeric. I ensured both of you are well educated, trained and able to take on the task. If not you two, than who?"

Rodrik shook his head, "He wishes to defer the appointment until a later time, as he claims there is no clear choice. Domeric and I are out of the question."

There was an awkward silence as they both calmed themselves, as everyone had finished eating. The air was heavy, and the mood had been shattered by the arguments between mother and son, until Donnard cleared his throat to gather attention.

Donnard looked across the table, first at Rodrik, then at Mark, "Rodrik, you are heading south to King's Landing, as a knight in service to your uncle. You grew up alongside Royce and Mark, and I would see it as an honor if you would allow for Mark to become your squire. You will no doubt be participating in tourneys and similar events and will have need for a squire."

Beside Rodrik, Mark straightened in his chair, a smile spreading across his face in excitement, "You mean it, Father? I can go with Rodrik, all the way to King's Landing?" His attention slipped as he began to ramble, mostly to himself, "I'll get to see tournaments, and learn to ride and use a sword..."

He was finally cut off by Rodrik settling a hand on his shoulder, "Being a squire is not so glorious as you may think, Mark. There are a lot of other tasks involved, and training will be hard and exhausting."

Rodrik turned back towards Donnard, "Of course, I accept. Having Mark squire for me will be an honor, and I will train him in all that I know."

Mark was practically bouncing with joy at the prospect, while Royce caught his attention, "You had best go pack what you will need, and find the stable master and have a horse readied for your departure."

Mark nodded, excitedly standing from the table and running off in a rush, almost near a dead sprint.

Everyone was smiling slightly at Mark's exuberance, before Beron resumed the conversation at the table, "You're a knight now, going south to King's Landing, Rodrik. I would say now is the time to choose what you will call yourself. As a sworn knight, you can leave the name Snow behind you."

There was silence as Rodrik thought about the topic of what he would call himself, before the answer came to him, so obvious that he almost laughed.

He was about to speak, when there came a scratching at the door to the hall. Curious and slightly confused, the guardsman beside the door pulled the door slightly open, as Anogar pushed himself into the hall. The guardsman jumped in surprise, his hand grabbing the hilt of his ax before he was completely ignored by the direwolf.

Anogar moved at a leisurely jog, moving to Rodrik's side before dropping down to lay next to him, as Rodrik ran a hand through his fur.

What Rodrik did not consider, was the reactions of everyone else seated at the table. Barbrey had a hand resting over her heart, clearly having been greatly startled by a red wolf strolling into her hall. Royce looked curiously at Anogar, while otherwise not reacting, while Donnard and Beron looked at Rodrik as if he had grown a second head.

Laughing lightly at their reactions, Rodrik apologized, "Sorry, I'd forgotten that Anogar did not accompany me through the town, and so I never introduced him. He is my direwolf; surely you have all heard how the Stark children all received a pup after we found their mother dead?"

Beron let out a laugh, "Heard about it, yeah. Believe it to be true that they were real direwolves and not just a regular wolf, no. But mine own eyes do not lie, that big beast beside you is a direwolf."

"His red fur matches Alydar's own hide, how queer." Barbrey's observation was something that the others had noticed as well.

Donnard nodded, "It is strange, the coloring of your wolf matching the color of your horse, weirder even than the fact that you HAVE a direwolf in the first place."

Royce spoke up, "Red was always Rodrik's color, it must be the work of the Old Gods themselves for such a thing to occur."

There was a murmur of agreement, before Rodrik cleared his throat, "I know what I will go by. I was always called The Red Bastard of Winterfell, for Alydar's red hide, as well as for clarity. But now it is as if the gods have chosen the name." He stopped, looking first at his mother, at Donnard and Royce and Beron, before looking down at Anogar.

"I am Rodrik The Red Wolf."

* * *

AN: So, total filler as I introduce Donnard, Royce and Mark Ryswell, as well as briefly show Lady Dustin and Barrowton. Short as well, but I struggled with writer's block the last week or so, and I wanted to post something, so that I may move forward with the story.


	5. Chapter 5

Mark followed after Arya and her friend, Mycah, with a smile wide on his face. The three of them had gone out exploring while the rest of the royal party had stopped to rest for a day, and together, they decided to go to The Trident, to where King Robert Baratheon had smashed in Rhaegar Targaryen's chest, and won the Seven Kingdoms.

Arya had clearly been itching to get away, stifling under the strict expectations befitting the Hand of the King's daughter, while Mark wanted a break to get away from his cousin Rodrik, who, true to his word, had him training constantly with him, and Jory Cassel, the captain of Lord Eddard's guard. 'And I also get to take care of his horse, and help him put on his armor, and clean his armor, and clean Vengeance.'

The three of them had only brought broomsticks with them, to play at being knights, fighting on opposite sides of Robert's Rebellion. Mycah was the oldest, the biggest, and the strongest, but Mark had the advantage of having been shown proper footwork, though Rodrik had not yet actually taught him anything to do with real sword work.

Arya on the other hand, was the smallest, the youngest, but by far the fiercest. She would receive a smack, but not back down at all, like a normal girl would. Arya would instead strike back, harder and faster than before, though she was still no match for either Micah or Mark. But, as Mark never forgot, her direwolf Nymeria was never too far off, and the wolf was just as ferocious as her owner.

'Rodrik's wolf Anogar is much larger already, though. But Nymeria more than makes up for that, she's so fast, and ever bit as wild as Arya is.'

They passed time that way for hours, swinging their mock swords around, moving up and down The Trident as they played. And they talked as well, Arya about how she wished she wasn't a girl, and that she could one day be a knight. Mycah gave Mark a look of jealousy, which Arya shared, at how Mark was being trained by Rodrik, and would one day be a knight as well, like his father, and his elder brother.

The three of them were all still having a lot of fun, as one last fight went on between Arya and Mark against Mycah, who had proven to be enough for both of them to struggle against. The battle between them went to a pivotal moment, as Mark took a misstep, criticizing himself for his mistake as he fell over himself trying to backpedal away from Mycah.

Mark decided he wanted a break, and sprawled out across the grass, enjoying the moment to breath, while leaving Arya to face Mycah alone.

Mycah was pressing the advantage he had, laying down heavy strike after heavy strike, as Arya backpedaled. Finally Arya planted her foot and made her own swing, though Mycah deflected the blow, and brought his stick down onto the backs of Arya's fingers, causing her to cry out, and drop her broom handle down into the grass.

Suddenly, a boy's laughter interrupted the friendly dueling, and everyone's attention was drawn to Prince Joffrey, laughing at them. Standing at his side, was Arya's elder sister Sansa, who looked absolutely horrified when she realized that it was Arya who had been fighting with Mycah.

It was her voice that cried out next, "Arya!" She was clearly offended by her sister's boyish behavior.

"Go away!" Was Arya's eloquent response, "What are you even doing here? Go away!"

Joffrey half asked, half laughed, before looking at Sansa, "Your sister?" Sansa nodded, so Joffrey looked back at Mycah, clearly judging him, "And who are you?"

Mycah was clearly fearful of Joffrey, and he dropped his broom handle into the grass as he answered, "Mycah, M'lord." He looked away from Joffrey, clearly recognizing the prince, and stared at the grass at his feet.

Sansa was still looking at nothing but Joffrey, "He's the butcher's boy."

Arya glared at her sister, "He's my friend, you leave him alone."

"A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, is it?" Joffrey swung himself down from his horse, a beautiful blood bay courser, "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy." Joffrey's face glittered with cruel amusement, "Let's see how good you are."

Mycah stood, unmoving and frozen in place, fear clear on his face. So Mark decided that it was time that he stand up, which drew the attention of Joffrey away from from Mycah.

Joffrey looked at him, not in any way recognizing who he was, "And who is this?"

The question seemed to have been directed at Arya or Sansa to answer, but Mark wasn't going to be cowed by the arrogant prince, "My name is Mark Ryswell, my prince."

Later, Mark would wonder what had come over him, but as a sneer crossed Joffrey's face, he continued speaking, "But who are you, to criticize us for playing with sticks? You are no knight, and from what my cousin has said, you swing a sword about as well as I do."

The arrogance and amusement on Joffrey's face turned to rage in an instant, and Mark knew that he had gone way too far in his goading of the prince, "Than grab your stick, and let's see how good you are then!" Joffrey's hand moved to his hip, grabbing the hilt of his sword, and pulling it free from its scabbard.

Throwing aside his mounting fear, Mark didn't know what came over him, but he continued his teasing of the prince, "What a valiant knight you are, my prince! Challenge the young squire to duel, his broken broomstick against your steel blade! I'm sure the bards will sing a story of this for years to come, the brave lion prince against the vile squire from the Rills!"

Joffrey was completely enraged, and he ran forward, his sword poised in both hands, and began to slash wildly at Mark. Joffrey was older than Mark, and much taller, but Mark was small and quick, rolling and dodging away from each strike as he was backed closer and closer to the river. Everything else faded out of focus, only the prince and his sword seemed to exist, as he backpedaled and rolled, all of the footwork training he had done with Rodrik more than paying off as he maintained the balanced shuffle that Rodrik had taught him.

And then suddenly, Joffrey was staggering forward, Arya standing behind him, after bringing her stick down hard on the back of Joffrey's head, and after a brief moment, he spun around to face her, his anger growing and growing. He was screaming now, curse after curse at Arya, his reckless swings getting closer and closer to Arya, who was scrambling as fast as she could to get away from Joffrey.

Mark gathered his courage, and rushed back towards Joffrey, who now had his back turned from Mark, so he sprinted at Joffrey and launched himself at his back, wrapping his arms around the prince to being him down to the ground. Mark landed on his back, as Joffrey's sword flew from his grip, his body hitting the ground hard.

There was a loud cry from Joffrey, as Mark stood up, and looked around for a brief moment. Mycah had run away as fast as his legs could take him, and Sansa was standing next to her horse, having dismounted at some point, with her hand over her mouth. Arya was standing a couple of feet away, and looked like she was about to run, but she must have decided against it, as she ran back towards Joffrey, who was still laying on the ground, cradling his left wrist, and there was a gash on his forehead above his left eye, where he must have fallen down on a rock.

Arya got to Joffrey, and delivered a quick kick to his chest, and grabbed his sword from where it had fallen next to him. It was a very ornate sword, blue-tinted steel, with a leather wrapped grip, and a golden lion's head pommel. And then Arya ran over to the river, and chucked the beautiful sword into the water, it disappearing quickly beneath the churning water. Arya then turned to run away from them all, but Mark stopped her.

"Arya we need to go back, right now."

Sansa ran past them both, right to Joffrey's side, who was still laying on the ground, "My prince, my prince! Look what they did to you!" She turned to look at Arya and Mark both, "You _ruined_ it! Leave! I HATE YOU!"

Mark needed no more encouragement, he grabbed Arya's hand and pulled her behind her, breaking into a sprint as Joffrey screamed curses at them both. Arya scrambled at first to keep up, before pulling her hand out of his and running beside him.

They ran for nearly ten minutes without stopping, before Mark had to stop, his breath coming in gasps, placing both hands on his knees. Arya stopped next to him, looking tired, but impatient, "We need to keep going, we need to get away. That was the PRINCE! And we probably broke his wrist!"

Mark shook his head, straightening up, "He attacked us first, with a REAL SWORD! The King will surely see we are not at fault, and your uncle will protect us."

Arya still looked fearful, "We hurt the PRINCE! He is cruel and will say it was US who attacked HIM!"

"He will say it was us, but there are two of us, and Mycah was there as well! Plus Sansa will surely tell the truth, and your uncle will believe the four us, and convince the King it wasn't us."

Arya was still refusing to be calmed down, "Sansa loves the Prince; and you heard her! She said she HATES US! Stupid Sansa!"

Arya was pacing back and forth, so Mark moved forward and put his hand on her shoulder, making her stop to look at him, "Your Father is the new Hand of the King, the second most powerful man in all Seven Kingdoms. You are his daughter; no harm will come to you."

She took a deep breath, and nodded, "Okay, we go back."

Mark let out a nervous laugh, before looking around him to try to get his bearings, as a thought came to him, 'I tackled the Prince and probably broke his wrist, and I am not kin to the Starks. Will I be safe from the Prince's wrath?'

Mark and Arya walked into the camp, nearly five hours later, well past sundown. They were noticed instantly by a Lannister guardsman, who said that they were to follow him to an audience with the King and Queen. The looked at each other, both incredibly nervous, before following silently behind the guardsman.

They were led into the King's own tent, where he sat, red-faced and looking irritated, with the Queen beside him. The Queen looked irate, her eyes narrowed at the two children as they entered, looking every bit the angry mother.

Robert Baratheon sighed, taking a draft from his tankard, and emptying it. "A rider came from a small holdfast, a small distance from Castle Darry, and told me that Sansa Stark had arrived at their gates, demanding aid for my son. He had gotten hurt in a fight with Arya Stark, Mark Ryswell and some common boy."

The King's attention focused on Mark, his eyes looking him over, "Which boy are you?"

"M-Mark, Your Grace." The response was nervous and stuttering, and Mark wanted to kick himself for seeming so afraid, though he was deathly afraid.

The King nodded, "Tell me what happened then, boy. Why does my son have a broken wrist, and why was his sword thrown into the damned Trident?"

Mark swallowed, knowing that he would need to tread carefully with his answer, as the Queen's eyes seemed to bore a hole straight through him, "Lady Arya, myself and Mycah were playing at sparring, with broomsticks, Your Grace. Mycah had just struck Lady Arya, when Prince Joffrey arrived with Lady Sansa, and he took offense at Mycah harming Lady Sansa's sister. He pulled out his sword and ordered Mycah to spar with him, but Joffrey had live steel, and Mycah only a stick."

The Queen interrupted Mark with a scoff, "A common boy, sparring with a Lady. He should learn his place then."

Just as when Mark had taunted Joffrey, a strange courage welled up within him, and he glared back at the Queen, "We were playing, my Queen. Your son meant to fight with live steel against a stick. I call him a coward."

The King's boisterous, drunken laughter boomed throughout the tent. "I like you, boy! There was no harm in children playing. Why then, did Joffrey get hurt while no one else did?"

Arya drew courage from Mark's dismissal of prince Joffrey, "Joffrey attacked Mark after he called him a coward; he almost killed him!" She looked at the Queen, glaring at her, "So I hit him in the back of the head so hard my stick broke."

Once again, the King's laughter blocked any attempt to continue talking, until Mark cut in, "The Prince was so mad at Arya that he took after her, and began to swing at her, a Lady, who was defenseless. So I tackled him, and in the fall he broke his wrist and must have hit his head on a rock, Your Grace."

The Queen looked furious, "You insulted and attacked your Prince!"

Mark knew that the King was on his side, and stood his ground against the Queen, "I defended myself and Lady Arya against the attacks of your son, who meant harm upon us for his own amusement."

The Queen snapped, "You Lie! How dare you talk to your Queen like this!" She glanced at Robert, "Are you going to let them get away with this?"

Robert looked at Cercei dismissively, before glancing at Mark with a smile, "To me, it sounds like a fight between children, where our son was being a right prick, woman. Joffrey will heal, and hopefully learn his lesson, he was beaten by a girl and a little boy." Robert looked at Mark and Arya, "Away with you two, it is late, and your father is worried sick, girl."

Arya took no moment for pleasantries, and spun around and ran out of the tent, while Mark bowed as respectfully as he could, before following Arya out of the tent, immediately following after her. They headed across the camp, to where the Northmen had set up, centered around Lord Eddard's tent. Arya made to go to the tent she shared with Sansa, but Mark grabbed the back of her arm and stopped.

She spun around angrily, "Let me go!"

Knowing better than to do so, Mark held on as she tried to shake him off, "We have to go see your father, I'm sure he is worried about you."

She stopped and scowled at him, before finally nodding in agreement, "Fine, just let go of me!"

Mark nodded, letting his grip on her arm go, before waving her ahead of him, as she seemed to start to drag her feet, knowing that she was going to face an angry father. As they headed through the camp,

* * *

Author's Note: Apologies for the delay, and another short chapter, but it will have to do, as I do not want to switch point of view in the middle of a chapter, and I had no reason to continue things from Mark's point of view. In case anyone is wondering, chapters will almost always be from Rodrik's view, but there are exceptions where it will switch when necessary. Mark is a clever, excitable kid, and I hope you guys liked him. Oh, and Nymeria did not make an appearance because she was not needed to intervene, and from what I can tell, the direwolves only get involved when necessary for the safety of their bonded Stark.

I have two finals tomorrow, and a paper I have to write and have done in 24 hours, so I probably won't have an update until sometime after Monday, but who knows. Until next time.


End file.
